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His expression did something weird. It stilled, though his eyes seemed to darken. He stumbled a little, almost coming to a stop.
Taking advantage, moving before I thought about it too hard, I crossed the street and joined him.
“Hi,” I said, “I’m Gigi. What’s your name?”
He kept walking and didn’t say anything for a long while, not until we were almost at my house, his hooded eyes flicking sideways at me all the way.
And right before I skipped away to a promise of warm lunch and an afternoon listening to music and doodling, he said, in his deep, rough voice, “Jarett.”
I think I’d fallen for him already, from a distance, but that one word, his name, sealed it. I didn’t know it then, but this was the boy who would one day break my heart.
The club is so full we push through people as Sydney pulls me after her in an unknown direction.
“Syd, stop.” What’s going on tonight? Why does everyone think they can drag me around like a rag doll, like I don’t have a say in any of it? “Jesus, stop. What’s the matter with you?”
We stop near the bar, and she turns to face me, her face a mask of guilt. “Sorry, I…”
But my mind is not on her right now. I turn in a circle, trying to see above the heads of the people, but even in my stilettos I’m not that tall. “Dammit.”
“What is it?”
“That guy I was with. Can you see him?”
That’d be a long shot. Goes to show how out of my wits I am right now. Sydney is much shorter than me, high heels or not.
I start back the way we came. “I need to find him.”
“Why?”
“Because…” And I halt.
Because he looks like Jarett. The first boy who ever got my attention. My full attention. And never returned it.
But that’s not what the other guy called him. He called him Fen.
Was I mistaken?
“Gigi?”
“Never mind.” I rub my hands up and down my bare arms, shivering despite the heat inside the club.
It has to be Jarett. Maybe Fen is a nickname. Jarett’s brother’s name was Seb. Sebastian. The coincidence is too much.
And it shouldn’t matter to me. Just because he pulled his brother off me and took me out to the alley to get fresh air, that doesn’t mean anything.
“You think I want you?” So amused.
I bet in his eyes I’m still the silly girl who ran so desperately behind him years ago and blabbered on about every stupid thing going through her mind.
Still I’d have loved to talk to him, ask him how he’s been. The urge to go looking for him, to take his hand, is a physical need, an ache in my chest.
To know if it is really him.
Instead, I turn back to Sydney. “Talk. What’s going on?”
She lifts her hands, eyes wide. “Look, I shouldn’t have disappeared like that. I got stressed, you know? Later I went looking for you but couldn’t find you. Where were you?”
Her lie leaves a sharp bitterness behind. I can taste it on my tongue, like a crushed pill. “You sure that was why you abandoned me there?”
